


The Guardian Angel

by StuckySituation



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Religious, M/M, Oaths & Vows, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28549026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuckySituation/pseuds/StuckySituation
Summary: Written for prompt: “Everyone must make a pledge to God at 16 declaring what they live their lives for. Any contradiction to their pledge results in immediate death.”~*~“It’s fine,” Bucky says, really not wanting to get into another debate over the Oaths and how important they are and how Bucky really,reallyshould already know what he’s going to tell God in a month. “I’ll swear to live for pancakes and eat them for the rest of my life. Every breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner I’ll honor the God-”“Don’t even joke about that, Bucky!” Becca hisses. Bucky feels a little guilty; she’s really worrying about him, isn’t she? “I know you won’t do anything as stupid as swearing your life on pancakes, but Iknowyou and sometimes you’re so dumb that I just want to strangle you. This time, you can’t wing it, okay? You can’t show up for your Oath and get A+ with no homework done.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 112





	The Guardian Angel

It’s February; Bucky’s favorite time of the year. The winter is almost over and days are lengthening. The world is slowly awakening. 

Only a month and it’s his sixteenth birthday. It’s wild to look back and think about how much has happened in only a year. He had his first kiss, which was nice. He had his first job as a part-time help at the corner store. He had his first real, scary, near-death experience, which no thanks ever again. 

He’s learned so much about himself and the world and the people around him that he can barely recognize the clueless little kid in his memories who he used to be this time last year. 

He’s almost an adult now, and even if it’s scary, he honestly loves it. 

Well. Most of the time. 

Right now, he wishes he could skip time over the next month because he’s not looking forward to this particular rite of passage.

It’s Saturday morning and he’s in the churchyard, standing next to his twin sister Becca, both of them in their fancy clothes and for the first time in their lives standing there without their parents. Becca has been giving him side-eyes since they woke up, so Bucky’s not surprised when she finally cuts the chase and asks him, “Any ideas yet on what you will pick as your Oath?”

“Nope.”

“Bucky…”

“Becca.”

“There’s only a month left...”

“Not all of us can be prodigies and decide our Oath when we are _twelve.”_

Becca rolls her eyes, but seriously, who comes up with their Oath at twelve? Well, Becca had. Bucky remembers the day she had pranced downstairs, declared she was going to pick ‘Truth’ and had made their mother wail and try to change her mind to something easier, something less dangerous.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, really not wanting to get into another debate over the Oaths and how important they are and how Bucky really, _really_ should already know what he’s going to tell God in a month. “I’ll swear to live for pancakes and eat them for the rest of my life. Every breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner I’ll honor the God-”

“Don’t even joke about that, Bucky!” Becca hisses. Bucky feels a little guilty; she’s really worrying about him, isn’t she? “I know you won’t do anything as stupid as swearing your life on pancakes, but I _know_ you and sometimes you’re so dumb that I just want to strangle you. But this time, you can’t wing it, okay? You can’t show up for your Oath and get A+ with no homework done.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me, Becs. I’ll be fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“I’m not _worrying_ about you. I’m _warning_ you. If you pick something stupid and end up breaking your word in a week, I’ll come to drag your ass back from Hell or wherever just to kill you _again._ With _pancakes.”_

Bucky spends the next ten minutes egging Becca on the topic of various ways pancakes could be used as murder weapons while they wait for the Church doors to open. They get some weird looks from other kids who trickle to the yard and hear snippets of their banter, but whatever. Bucky loves his murderous, overbearing sister.

The sermon itself is, as Bucky expected, boring and predictable, full of gravity and warnings, but at least it’s over rather quickly. Father Adams is familiar to Bucky and Becca from Sunday masses, an old man with a booming voice and thick eyebrows which jump up and down and punctuate his speeches.

Afterward, everyone gets a big bag full of books and pamphlets to take home, and a questionnaire to fill up before the first private counseling meeting. Bucky peers inside the bag and makes a face when he sees the inspirational quotes on the covers. 

~*~

At sixteen, everyone makes their pledge to God, declaring what they live their lives for. It’s a sacred Oath; any contradiction to the pledge results in immediate death, straight from the hands of God. (Or at least that’s what the Bible says. It’s not like anyone has ever been able to confirm that it’s God Himself who stops the hearts of those who break their Oaths.)

Bucky is a few months older than Steve, which is right now really inconvenient, because if Steve was the older one he would have picked his Oath already and Bucky could take the easy route out and just copy-cat him. Steve’s better at this stuff; he has the required passion boner for philosophizing morals and ethics and deep meanings that Bucky just… doesn’t. Not on a deep level.

But the world is cruel, and Bucky is the first one of them to go through this rite of passage. And no matter how much Bucky pleads or begs, Steve isn’t being as helpful as Bucky hoped.

It’s two hours after the sermon ended and they are both in Bucky’s bedroom. Bucky is sitting on the floor and Steve is on Bucky’s bed. (They _had_ started both on the bed. Then Steve shoved Bucky onto the floor after the third time Bucky asked him if he could please, please, _please_ just pick something for Bucky.)

“I won’t pick your Oath for you, Buck,” Steve says for the fourth time, with that maddeningly stubborn jut in his jaw that states that he’s not going to change his mind, and with that irritated tap of his finger against the book cover that warns he’s about to give up on reasoning with Bucky with words in favor of throwing one of the books at Bucky’s head instead. “The Oath has to be yours.”

“I don’t want to pick _anything,”_ Bucky mutters but grabs the thinnest pamphlet from the bed to mollify Steve.

“Well, good luck with that,” Steve mutters back, words dripping sarcasm, but he doesn’t throw any books at Bucky, so that’s a win.

There’s a big pile of books and pamphlets on Bucky’s bed, including the ones the Church gave him as well as the dusty, old ones in Barnes’s bookshelves. Steve is going through them with a determination that makes Bucky’s heart skip, just a bit, because it’s sweet and honestly more than Bucky’s whiny ass deserves. Bucky himself is already planning to give up, grab dice, and let the luck decide for him. 

But he knows that Steve won’t let him do that; from the looks of it, Steve has taken it upon himself to single-mindedly save Bucky’s eternal soul and make sure that Bucky picks a good cause.

Bucky sighs and tears his eyes away from Steve to look down at the thin, colorful, cheerful pamphlet in his hands. _‘Modern Guide to Virtues in 20th Century’._ There’s a lot of cartoony illustrations, which are sort of cute, but nothing grabs his interest or starts the angel choir in his head or whatever bullshit is supposed to happen when a person realizes their one true purpose in life. He reads the introduction, which spouts the same old mantra he’s been hearing his whole life of the holy virtues, their diversity and many nuances, and the importance of picking the one that speaks to self the most.

When he goes through the contents page, he can’t help the feeling of dread. Charity, Dignity, Diligence, Discipline, Frugality, Justice, Kindness, Patience, Temperance, Truth --

It’s not that he’s _opposed_ to any of them. But to pick one and swear to make it his life’s purpose?

Bucky groans and throws the pamphlet back onto the bed.

“Don’t give up, Buck,” Steve says, his voice strained. “There has to be something that you want to pick.”

“Yeah, right. I want to pick all of these,” Bucky gestures at the books and the pamphlets, “And throw them out the window.”

In Bucky’s opinion, it’s pretty hypocritical that Steve reacts by picking a book and throwing it at Bucky. Bucky throws the book back at him, and then it’s the pillows, and then it’s Bucky throwing himself at Steve, and soon they are both laughing and cursing and there are too sharp elbows and knees in the ribs and the old bed is creaking and complaining under them.

They call a truce when Bucky’s mom in the kitchen bangs the wall between the kitchen and Bucky’s bedroom and yells at them to stop, but it still takes a moment for them to settle down. 

Once they’re done, lying on the bed and catching their breaths, Bucky feels better. More light-hearted, like some of the tension has gone out the window. Or like he’s a little bit more in his body and a little bit less on a slide towards the shadowy, sad corners of his mind.

“Sorry,” Bucky says and rests his head on Steve’s chest. “I know I’m being a pill. I just hate this stuff.”

“No way,” Steve asks, feigning surprise. “I thought you loved this.”

Bucky pokes his ribs, but Steve seems to be done with horsing around and doesn’t retaliate; instead, he threads his fingers through Bucky’s hair, massaging his scalp lightly with his fingertips. Bucky sighs and closes his eyes.

“Why do you hate this stuff so much?”

For a moment, Bucky is confused, because he thinks Steve’s talking about the hair scritching, but then he remembers what they are supposed to be doing here. Right, the Oath.

“It’s stupid,” Bucky mutters.

“Just tell me.”

Bucky smiles thinly. “I think I’m a bad person.”

Steve’s fingers pause their petting. “What? Why?”

“Everything makes me think of just exceptions and grey areas.”

“Hmm?”

“Like ‘Truth’? Becca lives that shit, and it fits her. But I don’t want to be that blunt. I can’t. There are times when lying is necessary. I know Becca doesn’t agree, and that’s why it’s a perfect Oath for her. But for me? I’m never gonna swear that I won’t lie to help you out of some trouble. God would smite me on the spot if I tried to make that my Oath.”

Steve’s silent, his fingers continuing their careful petting. It’s easier to open up when Bucky can’t see his face and what he’s thinking about.

“The more I think about all these fucking options, the more I feel like I’m just a selfish jerk and there’s nothing for me. A good person wouldn’t look at ‘Justice’, and think _‘no thanks, and here’s my list of reasons, do you want it in alphabetical order?’_ ”

It’s freeing to voice his fear aloud because these doubts have been a pressure building up inside him for months. But still, there’s a part of Bucky that expects Steve to push him away. Look at him and see him lacking. Bucky keeps his eyes closed and listens to Steve’s heartbeat, waiting for his judgment.

Finally, Steve speaks. “You know I haven’t picked my Oath either, yes?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m in the same boat, Buck. If you’re a bad person, then so am I.”

“The hell you are,” Bucky protests hotly and raises his head to glare at Steve. “You’re the best person I know. I bet you could pick any of these words-”

“No, I couldn’t,” Steve interrupts sharply. “Because you know why? I _agree_ with you. There are always so many possible circumstances. Life isn’t black and white. Honestly? I have no clue what I’ll swear to live for in June. And I don’t think that makes either of us a bad person.”

It’s sort of scary to hear that even Steve doesn’t know what his Oath will be. What chance _Bucky_ has, then?

Steve pushes at him. “This sucks, but won’t get any better if you try to ignore it. Get up.”

~*~

Bucky’s first private counseling with Father Adams and his expressive, judgmental eyebrows is a few days later.

Bucky’s filled his questionnaire because Becca’s wrong and Bucky actually always does his homework (sometimes rushed, sometimes right before lessons, but he does, okay), but he still ends up feeling stupid and unprepared when Father asks all sorts of probing questions about his answers. Bucky’s annoyed. Shouldn’t Father be helping and pointing him in the right direction? It feels more like he’s tearing down all seedlings of the vague ideas Bucky has.

Father gives him more papers to take home and passages to read before the next sermon and second private counseling. 

Bucky goes to Rogers’ and Steve lets him rant for full fifteen minutes about the unfairness of life.

~*~

Sarah Rogers gets home from work, takes one look at their pile of books, and snorts dismissively. “You won’t find your answers in those books.”

Bucky and Steve share a surprised look over the Rogers’ kitchen table. Bucky asks, half warily, half hopefully, “Then where?”

Sarah turns her back to them and starts to go through the kitchen drawers.

Bucky looks at Steve, who looks back just as baffled.

Bucky doesn’t know what he expects her to do (maybe dig out something ugly and dusty from under the sink and offer it to him with a smile and _‘Here, this is your holy Oath, Bucky! Oh gosh, it’s been hiding here all this time’_ ) but whatever his unspecified, subconscious expectations were, they were a tad too high because he’s disappointed when she finally turns back to them and hands Bucky a small, hand-held mirror.

“Uh…”

“It’s a cliche,” Sarah says unapologetically and takes his hand and puts the mirror in it, not giving him any choice but to take the mirror. “But also the truth. Those books? They are all written by well-meaning people who have never met _you._ You have to look at yourself and ask yourself who _you_ are and what matters to _you.”_

When Bucky looks into the mirror, it doesn’t offer any deep revelations, just his confused and lost reflection. When he tries to awkwardly give it back to Sarah, she refuses to take it, so he ends up wrapping the mirror carefully in old newspapers and puts it in the bag with all the books.

~*~

“What’s out of bounds?” Bucky asks in the second counseling session, at the end of February. “What’s, like, forbidden to make an Oath on?”

If he can get clear ramifications, maybe this will be easier. Maybe something _almost_ in the shadows resonates more with him than all these holier-than-thou virtues on the pedestal right in the middle of the room.

Father Adams doesn’t yell at him or send him out or tell him that he’s a dirty sinner for asking such a question. He doesn’t even look angry or disappointed. He just smiles and leans back on his chair. “There’s no list of forbidden Oaths, James.”

“But-”

“Nobody can forbid you from making any oath you want. It will be only up to God to judge you on your Oath.”

Well, that’s unhelpful.

~*~

The days sludge by. Bucky goes to school, attends the sermons twice a week, goes to Sunday mass, reads about pilgrims and champions and their lives even when he’s more than fed up with it all because maybe, maybe in the next page he finally finds something that he makes it all click to him. No matter what Sarah said about self-reflection and mirrors, Bucky doesn’t believe that staring at his own reflection would give him any grand revelations, so the mirror stays wrapped up.

Steve’s there with him, reading with him and drawing some of the stories. They talk about the stories sometimes, but most often, they just sit together in silence, and when Bucky looks up, Steve’s sketching or looking out the window with a thoughtful, worried frown in his face.

Bucky wants to wipe that worry away from his face, so he continues his search.

He’s always got the dice, he thinks drily, if everything else fails and he has to make a last-minute decision before pledging.

~*~

“Can you draw me?”

Steve looks up from his drawing. “Huh?”

“Please?”

It doesn’t take more needling than that. Steve starts drawing him, while Bucky lies on the Rogers’ ugly, old couch, his heart hammering for some reason.

It’s not like it’s the first time Steve’s drawing him. He’s drawn Bucky plenty of times. But it’s been a while, and maybe- maybe there’s some answer Bucky can glean off a picture. Steve’s opinion on him matters most to him, after all. 

Steve’s ears are pink and his face stubborn when he offers Bucky the drawing.

It’s a sketch of little Steve, maybe nine or ten, in bed. Most of the room is in dark shadows, but the window is open letting bright sunlight in, and Bucky’s half-way climbing through it to inside, his smile crooked and a bag of fresh-baked buns in one hand.

“Steve-”

“You aren’t a bad person, Buck,” Steve says. “Remember that day?”

Bucky worries his lip. He hates to disappoint Steve, but… “No.”

Instead of disappointment, Steve smiles. “Because you did this all the time, just sometimes it was buns and sometimes a cake and sometimes a new toy, and you can’t remember this one day because they all blur together?”

“I mean- I didn’t _always_ bring you something.”

“You always brought yourself. That was the biggest gift you could have brought.”

The thing about Steve is that he’s the prickliest, saltiest, most bitter person right until, of course, he decides he’s having one of _those_ days and he’s gonna be the biggest goddamn _sap_ and do his best to kill Bucky with feels.

~*~

Bucky stays for the night at Rogers’, sleeping on the floor in Steve’s room. Or trying to sleep.

He’s full of restless energy, the dread of his pledging getting closer and closer, and he can’t sleep. He takes his bookbag and sneaks out of the room, careful not to step on any creaking spots.

In the kitchen, Bucky lights a couple of candles and sets the bag on the table. He takes out everything in it, organizing everything in two piles of _‘Read Too Many Times No Thanks’_ and _‘Ugh Fine Going To Check Again’._ The mirror, wrapped in the newspapers, falls on the table with a quiet clink, in the middle of his operation.

Bucky sighs and unwraps the paper. It’s a nice mirror; he didn’t look at it closely last time, but this time, when he brings it close to the candlelight for closer inspection, Bucky notices its heaviness and the way its frame is carved. It’s no cheap mirror. Bucky has no clue why Sarah gave it to him. She shouldn’t have, especially not when Bucky’s too much of a dumb mook to have any use for it.

The least he can do is return it. He wraps the mirror back in the papers, to protect it, opens quietly one of the kitchen drawers, and hides the mirror under the utensils.

Then he sits down and grabs one book from the _‘Ugh Fine Going To Check Again’_ pile.

It’s past the witching hour and his eyes are hurting from the strain when he finds a page titled _‘The oaths that you shall not make.’_

~*~

“There _is_ a list of forbidden oaths,” Bucky says accusingly on his third and last counseling, opening the books to show the page.

“Ah,” Father says, with a small smile, and traces his finger over the list. “These are discouraged oaths, not forbidden. You shouldn’t make any oath lightly but particularly, none of these.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s uncertainty in committing yourself to something tangible. People, places, occupations, goals, skills… they are more difficult to stay committed to than any virtue.”

“But if I make an Oath like that,” Bucky says slowly, “it’s okay? God won’t, like, smite me down for choosing something I shouldn’t be choosing?”

“Let me tell you something I have told every child who’s asked me about the tangible Oaths,” Father says, with a smile which Bucky feels is trying to hide its excitement; over what, Bucky doesn’t know. “Can you guess what my Oath is, James?”

“Uh,” Bucky says. It’s hard to imagine the priest in front of him as anything but what he is right now, an old man in a robe, a priest. It’s almost impossible to believe that once upon a time, he was a boy at Bucky’s age. He wouldn’t have been a priest then, but certainly... “Faith? God?”

Father’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “Oh, no! At your age, I didn’t want _anything_ to do with God. Let’s just say that we weren’t on good terms those days.”

Bucky sits up, a little more straight in his chair. “Then… did you choose a tangible Oath?”

“Yes, James. I chose ‘Brooklyn’.”

Bucky can’t do much else than stare. He’s been driving himself _mad,_ been driving _Steve_ mad, these past weeks, brooding and moping about his inability to find anything worth committing to. And with one word, Father Adams is flipping everything upside down.

He’d sure as hell be more ready to commit to _Brooklyn_ before committing to Dignity or Patience, that’s for sure, but the useless texts hadn’t even mentioned that this was a possibility. No, this list had been barely a footnote in one of the more boring books, nothing he would have ever found if he hadn’t kept digging and being unsatisfied with everything else he’d found.

“There have been times that that choice has limited my life and there have certainly been times that I regretted it. When my parents died a year after my pledging, I wanted nothing but to leave my prison of seventy square miles and run away from everything. But I couldn’t stay away more than a day or a few because of my Oath. It led me to think of God as an unfair jailer. I spent years bitter and angry about life until I realized that what I had wanted to do was run away from myself and my pain. But my Oath to God didn’t let me run away and forget myself.

“If you choose anything tangible, there will be pain,” Father says, his voice going gentle. “We can’t know the future. You may pledge yourself to a person who will die next year, and nobody but God and you will recognize your dedication and pain as you tend their grave for years to come. You may pledge yourself to a city that gets destroyed or changes in ways you’d never have imagined. Ironically, there’s greater flexibility in choosing to champion an abstract, immortal concept such as Justice, Freedom, Truth, or even Love, which is why people are encouraged to choose from them. It’s easier.”

“But _you_ picked Brooklyn,” Bucky says, challengingly.

Father nods. “I did. I was a rascal and skipped half of my sermons before my pledging because there was too much life in me to sit and listen to some old fool talk about things I didn’t care.” Father smiles knowingly and winks at Bucky, who snorts. “I’d never encourage anyone to make their Oath the way I did, but I haven’t regretted my Oath for many, many years, because it has shaped and guided me on my path well. I wake up every morning feeling that Brooklyn is exactly where I should be and where I’m needed. In the end, nobody can make your Oath for you, James. If there’s something in the world that lights your soul like nothing else and makes you want to fight for it, then you know what to tell God, no matter what I or anyone else has to say.”

It sounds too easy, too simple, to be true. “And you’re sure that God is all okay with that, Father? We won’t get in any trouble on Judgement day?”

Father’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “James, why would God mind? Choosing to guard one of His creations is no lesser task than choosing to champion one of His holy causes.”

“But there was nothing about these sort of Oaths in any of those books. Just… this. A mention _not_ to do them.”

“History books and holy texts are for champions, pilgrims, martyrs, and heroes, not for the steadfast guardians tending His garden,” Father says, his smile wistful. “I believe that those who are meant to carry a guardian duty find their way to their Oath without any guidance. But it is not up to me or any old text written by another fool like me to convince you whether this is your path or not. That choice is yours. If you think this isn’t it, then you must continue your search.”

~*~

Bucky left his last counseling session with his head spinning, but the longer he’s outside back in the real world, the more doubts and conflict enter his mind.

Sure, Father Adams is a charismatic speaker like all priests, and his words may have finally been pulling at just the right chords inside Bucky, but ‘charismatic’ doesn’t automatically equal ‘right’. 

Viewed from another angle, Father sounded like a man who’d made a dumb mistake in his youth and then spent a decade or two rationalizing that choice for himself.

But... there was an undeniable resonance in the man’s words that Bucky identified with.

Bucky imagines what it would be like to be pledged for Brooklyn. Grounded in all of its ugliness and beauty, pledged to its reality in the present. It feels visceral and right in a way that considering any of the abstract possibilities never felt for Bucky. Bucky thinks of the streets he’s grown up on, all the people (good and bad) around him, coming and going, everything forever in motion and changing, all that complexity and depth out of any one man’s control or understanding. What even is Brooklyn? Is it the area, is it the people? Maybe even Father Adams doesn’t know for sure. Maybe it’s both and even more. 

No matter, _‘For Brooklyn’_ sounds more meaningful, more real, than _‘For Justice’._ It sounds like something that can be yelled from the bottom of the heart, with hope and bitterness and vengeance and love and thousand memories.

Maybe there was something in his joke to Becca about swearing his life on pancakes, Bucky thinks, because if he’s making an Oath that he’ll carry for the rest of his life, he wants it to be something he can touch, something real and alive that he can point at and say, _‘This is it, this is my Oath, and I don’t care about the hows or whys or goddamn deep philosophies because I’ll use any means and virtues and exceptions and grey areas to keep this Oath.’_

Bucky knows he won’t pick Brooklyn, but for the first time, he feels like he’s on the right track and close to the answer. He just needs to find his own ‘Brooklyn.’

~*~

In the end, it’s obvious.

“I think I got my Oath,” Bucky tells Steve a few days before his pledging.

Steve looks at him curiously, with a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You seem… more settled. Like you found your missing piece for a puzzle.”

Bucky agrees but realizes later when he’s in bed and in that drowsy half-sleep state that that’s not exactly it. He’s feeling less like a missing piece slotted in a right place and more like he took a step back from fiddling with pieces and saw that the puzzle was already complete.

~*~

On March 10th, barely past midnight, Bucky Barnes steps inside the chapel, holding a certainty he wouldn’t have dared to hope for a month ago. 

He shares one last look of _‘here we go’_ with Becca on his right before they go their separate ways to offer their Oaths.

He knows that objectively, he’s making a horrifying oath. But subjectively, it simply feels right. And in the end, it’s his oath, not anyone else’s. It’s his oath, his life, his pledge, his purpose. 

It will be his path; nobody else but he is going to walk down it. He doesn’t know the future or where the path will lead him, but the deep certainty singing from his soul _‘yes, yes, yes, yes,’_ is telling him that this is the right choice.

It’s not like he has to share his oath with anyone. He doesn’t need any approvals or permissions or pats on the back. This can stay between him and God, a soft prayer tucked tight next to his heart.

~*~

“You look too happy,” Becca says accusingly the moment they are out the doors and back in the churchyard. “You picked something dumb, didn’t you?”

Bucky shrugs and can’t stop smiling.

“Oh god, you _did,”_ Becca groans. “What did you do? Why?”

“It felt right,” Bucky says with a shrug.

“If you wanted to be funny and you did pick the pancakes...”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky says solemnly, “I’ll never tire of pancakes.”

“You better not,” Becca says darkly.

When they are outside their house, Becca takes his hand before they get inside, squeezes his fingers, and says, “I’m glad you figured it out.”

~*~

Steve is dying of curiosity. It’s clear as a day to Bucky, who knows how to read him, but it’s also just as clear that he won’t outright ask. He’ll respect Bucky’s privacy.

“You can try to guess it,” Bucky offers.

Steve quirks his eyebrow. He’s tempted; Bucky can tell from the sharpness of his eyes and the tap of his forefinger against the table. “Are you only offering that because you think I’ll never guess it?”

“Maybe,” Bucky admits. He knows Steve’s blind spots.

“You know that you don’t have to tell me,” Steve says.

“I’ll tell you one day,” Bucky says because he knows that he cannot keep any secret from Steve forever. “It’s just… people are going to say it was a dumb choice, but it’s not, and I don’t wanna fight with anyone about it. I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Steve says. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring if I’m honest. Are you sure it wasn’t a dumb choice?”

Bucky flips him a finger.

Steve grins, his smile warm and breathtaking. “I know you, Buck. I know you considered it carefully. So whatever you pledged for, I’m sure it was the right choice. And I’ll be honored if you let me know one day.”

_I love you so much._

That love has never felt painful, not like a burden, not a tragedy, not a prison or a trap; it’s a simple truth, fond and marrow-deep true, as mundane and easy to take for granted as the dawn tomorrow, yet just as awe-inspiring and miraculous. The sun rises every morning and Bucky loves Steve, and both are just facts of his life.

Bucky knows that he won’t tell Steve about his own Oath, not for a long time if he can help it. He doesn’t want to burden Steve with its knowledge; it’s Bucky’s, and he doesn’t want Steve to feel obligated or awkward or guilty, like he owes Bucky anything in return. 

Maybe Bucky is just one of the millions of dumb teenagers who’ve gone down this similar foolish path over humankind’s history, lovestruck and stubborn and naive, but Bucky refuses to believe that. 

He doesn’t care how many horror stories there may be of people pledging themselves over to one person because Bucky knows that none of those poor bastards had Steve.

 _‘There will be pain,’_ Father Adams had said, but Bucky’s not afraid of pain, not when he feels that he’s right where he should be and the only promise he’s ever made to God is as easy to keep as it is to keep breathing.

~*~

Steve’s pledging is on the sunny morning of July 4th. Bucky accompanies him and Sarah to the Church and then waits with Sarah in the Cafe across the street.

There’s not much talk between Bucky and Sarah, as they both wait, silently watching the Church. Sarah drinks her coffee quickly in a few gulps, like a nurse who has learned to make the most out of the breaks, while Bucky fidgets and lets his coffee grow cold by the time the doors open again and the people pour out of the Church.

They go out and meet Steve on the street, and then head to a diner for lunch.

“So, now that’s over with,” Sarah says as they wait for their burgers. “Do you feel any different?”

Steve smiles like there’s a story behind that question. “Nah,” Steve says, but then he turns thoughtful. “I don’t feel different, no, but… I feel more like myself if that makes any sense.”

“Good,” Sarah says, and Bucky could swear her eyes are shinier than normally, but she’s as tough a nut to crack as Steve so it’s hard to say. They eat their burgers, and after, Sarah leaves for his shift at the hospital.

~*~

“I chose ‘Integrity’,” Steve tells him later when they are back at Rogers’ house.

“Huh,” Bucky says. “That’s…” _‘Cheating’_ is what he thinks first, awed and gleeful and proud, because of course, if anyone then Steve could find a way around God. He found a way to both be an overachiever _and_ show a middle finger to God by telling Him that he’d rather follow his own values and codes to a T over someone else’s black-and-white words, thank you very much.

But ‘Cheating’ doesn’t give it enough credit; if anything, Steve turned his nose on choosing any one value, and instead grabbed them all. 

Integrity is never easy, not even for people like Steve who can make it look easy. There’s not a whole lot of people who can truly stay loyal to their own integrity; their own core, deepest values, beliefs, self. It’s too easy to bend to the world. In a wrong crowd or a situation, the most dangerous action can often be to stick to your own guns.

But it’s not like that’s news for either of them or ever been a deterrent for Steve. Integrity and Steve have always gone hand in hand as easily as swimming and fish.

“I wanted to follow Ma’s advice about picking something that already feels like an oath,” Steve says. “She said that the most obvious oaths are the best ones.”

“It’s a good choice,” Bucky says. “Very you.”

He feels Steve’s eyes on him. He feels the weight of his curiosity. “You haven’t regretted your Oath?”

Bucky wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Never have, never will.”


End file.
